Transatlanticism
by Anti-canon
Summary: AU- Spock moves to Earth to deal with a personal crisis and meets Jim, a charismatic photographer who has abruptly left his hometown. Based off of the Death Cab for Cutie album of the same name as the title. SLASH! Will have eleven chapters.
1. The New Year

**A/N: The idea of this project came to me while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's album Transatlanticism while on a fairly long car trip. I am planning on having it be eleven chapters long (each one corresponding with it's appropriate song). Listening to the accompanying song before/after/during reading will enhance the experience and I have unabashedly stolen some lyrics to further link them up. I strongly suggest to listen as it helps set the mood too. THIS IS SLASH! So if you don't like that stuff you prolly won't like this. I know this feels rather prologue-y, but that was actually more or less intentional. I would be pleased to get some reviews on this with any suggestions and/or criticism. This story doesn't have a beta yet either, so if you're interested send me a PM! I love any and all followers of my stories and treat reviewers well! Any ways, on to the story! I have now put up the 2nd chapter and it is infinitely better than this one, so read that please before you come to a decision about this series!**

Jim climbed the creaking steps carefully- each one bending beneath his weight and only barely seeming able to hold together. He wrinkled his nose as the musty smell of the attic hit him. The dust blanketing every flat surface of the small room stirred as if sensing his presence, forcing a violent sneeze. Jim took shallow breaths as he moved to the back of the room and gently pulled open the soft, worn cardboard box. He slowly delved into its contents- reluctant to acknowledge the existence of the materials inside. Not long ago he had grimly decided that in order to move forward he couldn't have these pieces of his past anchoring him here.

Finally closing his fingers around the smooth fabric that had been his sole reason in braving this decrepit place. Standing swiftly, he rushed back down the damaged stairs- not caring for their condition, but only wishing to rid himself of the chill that settled on his shoulders. Jim reached his room and leant against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths and wondering just how this place always managed to get under his skin so thoroughly. When he felt like he had regained his composure again, he stepped in front of the full length mirror next to his dresser and brought the blue grey fabric against his chest-his father's old suit looked as though it would fit perfectly.

* * *

><p>Spock dropped into the firm chair that sat across from the trim, sterile looking bed in his assigned cabin. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths. Pressing through the dense crowds of people while boarding the transport had been…. trying. Spock's ability to keep his emotions reigned in had been severely compromised these past few weeks and the other voyagers aggressively competing for space were not helping. Yet again, his once insatiable curiosity had left him and now he merely wondered if he had made the right decision.<p>

He pressed himself further into the chair's confines- imagining a warm, dry breeze lightly lifting his hair. He could smell the heady spice of the desert and feel the gritty sand scratch at his skin. The illusion broke as a voice came on over the PA- announcing in several different languages- that they would be departing soon and all passengers should head to their respective cabins. Spock pulled his sweater tighter, snuggling deeper into his multiple layers, already feeling cold. He felt in his pocket for the reassuring, frayed edges of the Polaroid he kept on his person at all times. With a heavy sigh that conveyed more emotion than any words he'd spoken- Spock withdrew the photo portraying a human woman. His mother's contrite smile nearly covered by the layers of fabric she hid behind.

* * *

><p>Jim ambled down the street, taking his time and staring up at the stars, unable to shake the strange feeling that had enveloped him as the year drew closer and closer to its close. The uproar of the party started to reach his ears and he felt his shoulders grow tense. He hadn't felt at ease around crowds for the past few months now, but it was hard to convince everyone he knew when most of his life he had been seen as the life of the party. He stopped just across the street from the house- lights strewn across the white fence in front, music blaring from an antique boom box on the front steps, and a myriad of people dancing and talking on the front lawn- all wearing the classiest clothes they could find. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips ad he moved into the crowd and immediately found the table where they were serving alcohol.<p>

Bones, his closest friend and the one hosting this party, offered him a plastic champagne flute with a grunt of acknowledgement. "Glad to see you came, you always manage to really get everyone going." Firecrackers went off nearby and a few cheers echoed throughout the group. They both chuckled at the inebriated excitement that charged the place- making everything much more entertaining than it would be normally. "We all needed this- y'know. The chance to just forget about everything and pretend that we're wealthy and carefree for just this once." The older man sipped from his glass and the two of them enjoyed the companionable silence.

* * *

><p>Spock wandered through the dark streets, trying to get his bearings using the wildly inaccurate map on his PADD. He came across a park bench near a small copse of trees that he was certain that he'd seen before. He sat on the bench and sifted through the last hour in his head- attempting to make his own map inside his head. He couldn't help but smirk at the irony of his situation. He had recently convinced himself to try and further embrace his human side and his presence here was the result of his attempt at spontaneity. That very spontaneity was also the reason as to why he was currently lost while trying to find some place to stay until he found a more permanent residence.<p>

He looked up suddenly, startled to see explosions bloom across the night sky, but instead of hearing panic the sound of cheering reached his ears and he furrowed his brows confused as to what was happening. A small group of children laughed as they ran by, stopping to shout _Happy New Year! _at each person that passed. He looked around at the various small groups of people spread out across the neighborhood lighting small explosives and making as much noise as possible. "How curious." he mused, tempted to join the closest group of humans and inquire as to the specifics of their celebration.

* * *

><p>Jim looked up as fireworks began to pop all across he sky- the colors illuminating the streets below in numerous colors. He slowly snuck away from the party, all the attendants distracted by the show above. He grabbed a half empty bottle of liquor on the way out and staggered to find a quiet, secluded place. He could still hear the celebrations of others off in the distance, but the open field he slumped into was pleasingly bare. Wind rustled through the dead plants, he winced at the ground hard, not yet begun to thaw. The wind was bracing and sent chills down his spine. He lifted the bottle to his lips, hoping the spirits inside would warm his blood.<p>

"So this is the new year…. " he whispered to himself. "Yet I don't feel any different." he laid back and looked to the stars, silently imploring them to provide an answer to the questions swirling around in his head. He narrowed his eyes at the contents of the bottle and deciding against it, tossed it off to his right. Sitting abruptly he came to a decision. Tomorrow he was packing a bag and taking his motorbike to the coast. That was where you went when you ran away wasn't it?

* * *

><p>Spock dropped his bags onto the musty chair in the corner of the room and fell against the bed- a large cloud of what he hoped was dust rising into the air. He was too tired to care right now- even his Vulcan physiology unable to keep up with the lack of sleep he had been enduring. A cluster of drunken celebrators passed under his window taking their time to pass, apparently unaware that some people were trying to sleep just above. Spock rolled over, trying to block out the sound. How appropriate that my new beginning should coincide with Earth's new year he thought as he began to drift off.<p> 


	2. Lightness

**A/N: Look at me go! Already an update! I should warn you not to get accustomed to this though. XP I just felt bad that the first chapter was so... ya. Let's just forget that. It had relevant information, but was just bad. So, ya. This chapter is set about three or four months after the first one. And if anyone was wondering they are now in the northwest. Oregon coast approximately. If you like my story please, please, please review so that I know someone out there is reading this! I would love any and all suggestions, comments, criticisms! Just talk to me peoples. XP I treat reviewers really well with special prizes and stuff too. So there's some bribery! ^^**

Spock rolled over in bed and stared at the clock on his bedside table, willing it to turn back at least an hour or so. He was reluctant to get out of the large bed swathed with heavy blankets that occupied most of the space within his small room. It was much too cool on this part of Earth for him, but for some reason he felt drawn to the vibrant green of the local fauna and the unique shade of grey that colored the clouds covering the sky most of the days. There was something ethereal about this place and he wished desperately to understand it. It was so unlike his home, but there was something undeniably alluring about it- the unfamiliar damp smell and feel of the ocean permeating everything.

In the months following his arrival here he had set about immediately procuring a job and someplace nicer to stay than the run down motel that made him feel just shy of squeamish- another consequence of his ill planned abscond to this surreal place. He had managed to get a modest job as the assistant to an editor in the city, his fondness for punctuality and following instructions to the letter serving him quite well. He had already gotten a raise and was able to afford this small apartment in which he resided now. It was on the outskirts of the city, closer to the coast, but that served him well- preferring the quiet sound of the waves and its inhabitants as opposed the rather off-putting din that the city and _its_ inhabitants made.

Once he had gotten more settled in to his surroundings he had to admit that he hadn't done much indulging of his human nature- as had been his plan originally. As such he had recently taken a lengthy walk through the city in attempt to find some kind of "hobby" that would occupy the time outside of his work. Finally he pushed himself out of the bed and moved into the adjoining bathroom. He tried not to frown as he stripped for his shower- the warmth seeping out of his skin as he removed more and more layers. He had found his first weeks here that this area was considered precious to human culture and as such development and advanced technology were frowned upon. The large cities were as modern as any, but pushing out of their bounds the surrounding placed had varied levels of advancement. He found it….. quaint.

He covered his torso in the three layers of terran clothes that he found appropriate during this region's cool spring, but stared at the denim jeans that seemed to be the most commonplace of clothing choices for humans of all ages regardless of sex. He found blue jeans to be constricting and rough, all around unlikable, but he was determined to assimilate to the best of his abilities so he pulled them on with a frown, not bothering to suppress his emotions this time. He moved through the apartment quickly, intending to eat somewhere in the city before arriving at the small art studio that had caught his eye during his stroll through the city. He grabbed the black leather portfolio containing all the necessary supplies on his way out, hoping that this experience would provide him with what he was looking for.

* * *

><p>Jim slung his antique camera around his neck carefully while he grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen and hooked his arms through his black leather jacket- one of the few things that he had bothered to bring with him during his spontaneous move west. He struck up a light jog down the streets- always wishing to get to the art studio early so he could retrieve his pictures from the dark room before everyone arrived. He smiled at the bracing cold that settled around him as he breathed in the fresh ocean air. He had only been here a few months, but had found that this place unexpectedly suited him more than he could have imagined. For some reason unbeknownst to him he felt more at home here than he had anywhere else. Sometimes he missed the warm kiss of the sun on his bare shoulders, but he need only travel south for the weekend to get his fill.<p>

This place had a mysticism about it that had enthralled him from the first day. It seemed as if it was in its own separate place, apart from the rest of the galaxy. Time didn't seem to affect the towns in the same way and the ever present clouds above acted as a barrier to the outside sealing them off in a world of their own making. He slowed as he approached the smile building, shaking his head and laughing lightly. Since when had he become this guy? Shaking it off, he sauntered to the building's side entrance when something caught the corner of his eye. He poked his head around the edge of the building to see another guy about his age sitting out front.

His interest piqued immediately- no one was ever here before him. He treaded around the studio lightly, unabashedly staring at the boy. He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and breathing measured, he sat up against the trunk of the singular tree in the yard. Jim's own breath began to accelerate as his eyes followed the smooth, sinewy lines of his body. Jim could tell that although he was lean, it was all muscle, much like a large, predatory cat. He wore a thick blue-grey sweater that fit as snug as the dark pair of jeans that hugged his hips in an innocently seductive manner. He had inky black hair that was trimmed immaculately that somehow complimented the green tinge in his skin. _Wait_, Jim paused his ogling momentarily, _green?_ It was then that he noticed the elegant sweep of the man's eyebrows and the sharp point of his smooth ears. The exotic beauty of it all struck him suddenly and he couldn't help himself as he lifted his camera to his eye and agonized over getting just the right shot.

Finally satisfied with the composition of the shot he pressed the shutter button with a faint click. At the same exact moment the Vulcan's ear twitched at the sound and he turned his head in Jim's direction, eyes flashing open. Jim's camera slipped from his grip- only the strap around his neck saving it from smashing against the ground. He couldn't help the flush that crawled across his neck and cheeks as their gaze met. He let out a small gasp at the dark, unmistakably human eyes that stared back at him. He couldn't place the emotions within them and he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to break the intense stare. Those eyes were so unfathomably dark and deep that Jim could feel them starting to pull him deeper and deeper as the world around him started to slip away. He felt as though he couldn't breathe- palms sweating and throat dry. Just when he thought that the abyss would finally swallow him- the strange chimera broke as the Vulcan stood gracefully and headed inside. Jim sucked in a long, raspy breath and fell to his knees.

* * *

><p>Spock took his seat at one of the many islands that were spread out in one of the large rooms inside the building. He pushed his hands in his sleeves and took several deep breaths. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to grab hold of his emotions- his control frayed. '<em>That boy….'<em> he tried to clear his head, but could only see the terran boy from outside. When Spock had heard the unmistakable click of a camera he had whipped his head towards its source intending to thoroughly lecture the culprit on the proper etiquette when photographing others- only to have his mind completely erased by ruffled, sun drenched tawny locks, a smattering of freckles, and impossibly bright blue eyes that threatened to burn him out.

His clothing suddenly seemed much too warm and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. As people began to idle inside he tried to focus on setting up his easel and sketching materials, but he couldn't force his hands to stop trembling. He frowned, frustrated at his own lack of control and debated packing up and heading home before this ill-conceived outing could get much worse. He felt as though he understood now why he had never before tried to connect with this side of himself. Just as he had resolved to leave the door opened and the boy from outside sauntered in. A smile like liquid sunshine blossomed across his lips and Spock fell back onto his stool- completely taken by him. He forced himself to stare at the floor and wait for the work to commence.

An older gentleman stood at the front of the room and began to address everyone- informing them of various dates and times- upcoming galleries that they should be finishing preparations for. Though he heard the words he was unable to fully comprehend their meaning and was mildly surprised when everyone rose to begin working on their assorted projects. He too stood and placed his thin, charcoal pencil to the paper in front of him. He stared intensely at the white expanse, willing his hand to start moving, to draw anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration- finding the harder he tried to focus the less it helped.

Finally deciding to just give in he let himself peek around his easel to find the boy seemingly made of sunshine standing at the island directly in front of him- thankfully with his back turned. Spock noted that he had shed the worn, black leather jacket that he had worn before. Now a thin white t-shirt was all that covered his torso and Spock sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed a tear at the hem that had inched its way up to the small of his back. He couldn't keep himself from staring, fascinated at the tanned, smooth skin the tear revealed- yellow light from a nearby lamp illuminating the peach fuzz that nestled there.

Spock felt his hand twitch at his side and was momentarily baffled as to what exactly that meant. Slowly he lifted the pencil to paper again and this time it almost seemed to move of its own accord. He was slightly ashamed at his inability to follow the rules he had been so ready to lay out when he had unexpectedly had his picture taken. His instincts told him that what was happening now was a good thing- he was connecting with some of his more human aspects; but he also felt frightened by this and instincts can be misleading. He had been raised to be guided by logic, not gut feelings. Instincts often had a way of not telling him what he knows he should want. His free hand clenched and unclenched as the boy's figure came spilling out of the tip of his pencil. He frequently snuck glances around his easel once he came down to the details- pencil working furiously and his attention never straying.

His head snapped up abruptly when he heard the advisor's voice rung out across the room again, commanding their attention. Spock looked, bewildered that two hours had passed already. He noted that there was a thin gleam of sweat across his brow and his hands had charcoal smeared along the outer edges. He quickly began packing his things wishing to return to his apartment for a long afternoon of meditation. He heard the stool in front of him squeal as it was put away and he looked up to find his subject approaching. "It sounded like you were working pretty damn hard back here, mind if I take a look?" he smiled that smile again and it took Spock a moment to gather himself.

"I can't think of a reason why not." he didn't add that he had been trying his best to find one. The boy walked around the countertop and came to a stop in front of Spock's easel, freezing rigidly. Spock turned to watch his reaction, refusing to acknowledge that the uneasy feeling in his stomach could be nerves. The boy's ears and cheeks began to tinge pink as he took in the depiction of his own torso in staggering detail. The only discrepancy between reality being the tear in his shirt- which on the paper had turned into a dark, swirling design that spilled across his back in intricate whorls. Moving for the first time sine he caught sight of the drawing he reached behind himself and felt at the hem of his shirt, seemingly for the first time noticing the tear in the fabric. "If you find my rendering obtrusive I apologize for not first asking your permission and shall endeavor to find a different subject during the next session."

The boy shook his head furiously at this and seeming to regain his composure cocked a grin, different from his sunshine-smile, and extended his hand. "I'm Jim." Spock looked at the extended hand pointedly before bowing his head in greeting.

"I am afraid that entwining hands in my culture is very intimate and as such I cannot return your gesture. However, I am at liberty to offer my name in return. I am Spock." Jim's eyes widened slightly at his unintended attempt at intimacy and quickly withdrew his hand.

"Sorry, I've never met a Vulcan before." he rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. "I was lead to believe that art, as an expression of emotion, really wasn't their cup of tea."

Spock's brows furrowed, "I fail to see how my beverage preference is relevant to my art." Jim couldn't keep himself from laughing, unaware of the way that it made Spock tense and his eyes widen. Jim looked up after wiping tears from the corner of his eyes to find those deep brown eyes trained on him, meticulously sliding over his shape. He suppressed a shiver and as a sort of defense mechanism settled into an arrogant bravado. Silently he wondered, _'Who is this guy?'_


	3. Title and Registration

**A/N: Haha, wow! ((Just went back and proofread this for the first time! Tons of mistakes that needed fixing. They have been fixed, and I apologize to those who read before I could find them. In the future I shall be more careful with posting hastily! Even if you've read this chapter before, please do so again in case that was pre-editing!)) Even though it is rather unseemly I have to say that I am amazed that I am keeping on schedule with this story and am producing such long chapters! Long for me anyway. XP Heads up (even though it's a little late) I love page breaks, commas, and hyphens. I'm sure you've all already noticed and I hope you don't mind. :P Uhm, so ya, here's chapter three. I sincerely hope that all of you are following along on the album, cuz that was my sole inspiration. I do hope that you are enjoying the story so far and I am anxious to hear from any of you! I LOVE reviews, they make me very happy. I accept all comments/criticism/suggestions that you may have, I just wanna hear from you! **

Jim paused, hanging half out of his doorway, when he heard the comm ring just inside. He looked forlornly down the hall, but making a quick decision, turned to step back inside. He moved across the floor quickly if not gracefully and stopped at the comm on the kitchen counter. The screen displayed his mother's name and as he reached to accept the call with reflexive excitement he hesitated. She had been calling intermittently throughout the last two weeks, but he hadn't had the courage to answer just yet. The last time they had talked was some months back when he had called her outside of a crowded roadside diner. At first he hadn't wanted anyone to know where he had gone- just an old fashioned bolt in the night scenario- But having a missing person's filed wasn't exactly what he had been looking for either. Additionally, he couldn't deal with the guilt that roiled in his gut at the thought of his mother worrying herself sick at his disappearance, perhaps even thinking him dead. Now, he thought of how great it would be to hear her voice again, to tell her about his new job and the quiet Vulcan that he had so recently become enamored with. But he let his hand slip from the receiver, not quite ready to explain why he had left yet, especially not to her.

* * *

><p>Jim rushed into the brightly lit gallery and hurried over to the small corner that had been assigned for his exhibit. He stopped in front of the black and white photos that had been artfully arranged on the wall and groaned. He had briefly forgotten the inherent memories that the prints on the wall were associated with and was unprepared for the swell of emotion that came with them. Weeks back they had all picked the pieces that they wished to put on show and with his usual amount of foresight and grace he had provided the layout before him. All of the photos had an 'antique composition' and displayed various landscapes framed by a car window, each location vastly different from the last. They were arranged so that they drew the eye to the center- the largest frame displaying a woman with smooth, dark skin and ebony hair flowing behind her in waves, laughing in the passenger seat. "She is quite beautiful is she not?" Jim jumped at the sound of the quiet, somber voice in his ear.<p>

"Oh, hey Spock!" Jim fidgeted, straightening his clothes while taking in the solemn demeanor of the Vulcan beside him. "She um, ya she is." he pulled his fingers through his hair and smiled sheepishly. "We used date when I lived in Iowa." He thought that maybe he had seen Spock's eyes flash momentarily at the statement, but it passed so quickly that maybe the emotion had been merely imagined.

"I had deduced as much." Spock gave him a measured look and then turned to walk calmly back to his own space- a handful of onlookers beginning to gather around his charcoal and oil pastel drawings. Jim couldn't help the brief pout that pulled at his lips as he wondered how long he'd been staring at the photographs and how many customers he'd accidentally blown off. With only the slightest hesitation he followed Spock's graceful steps, but stayed back with the other observers as he listened to the soothing cadence of Spock's voice explaining whichever piece they might be interested in. A haughty smirk crawled its way across Jim's face as he noticed that Spock's centerpiece was the charcoal sketch of his torso, unchanged from the day he had first seen it- the day he had first seen Spock. With mock innocence he raised his hand to catch Spock's attention, and when all he received was a pointed look, he barreled straight on.

"Your centerpiece there," he gestured with this lips while keeping his hands clasped behind his back, "I see there is no price tag. What exactly is the reasoning behind that?" He rocked back and forth on his heels animatedly, "A bidding war perhaps?" Spock offered him an annoyed look, eyebrows furrowing, and he seemed to take a while formulating his response before he continued.

"I have a few prints of that particular piece if you are interested in a _purchase_." he emphasized the last word slightly. "However, the original is not for sale." he paused, a light blush creeping up his collar, "I would prefer to keep that for my private collection." Spock turned quickly to the next question, attempting to hide the green of his cheeks and making sure to avoid eye contact with him. Jim felt his own embarrassment heat his ears as he swung his arms back and forth- his earlier pride being replaced with an odd sense of affection. Feeling awkward, and a little like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he turned to leave when he noticed someone standing at his exhibit. He frowned lightly at the stranger in the form-fitting red dress. Something about the way she carried herself was so familiar….. He cocked his head to the side his eyes widened as realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

Carefully, he turned on his heel and began the excruciating process of completely avoiding her. He felt like a fool, ducking around pillars and hiding behind people as they danced around each other in the studio, but panic gripped his insides like a vice and he felt as though he might be sick. People kept shooting him frosty glances and he could only offer a shrug and meek smile in return. He shot despondent looks at his abandoned post, the missed opportunities gnawing at him, but he didn't dare go back. When he finally caught an opening, he dashed across the floor to Spock's stand, which for the first time that night, was deserted. "Hey!" he walked up and grabbed Spock by his elbow, turning them so that their backs were to the open room. "You wanna run away with me?" he turned his head minutely to catch Spock's reaction, when he noticed the Vulcan's pupils blow wide, ears tinge green, and mouth pinch tight. It was then that he caught the alternate meaning of his words and hurriedly stumbled to correct himself. "Just for tonight I mean!" he wrung out his hands nervously, "I need to get out of here, but I don't wanna be alone." He added the last bit spontaneously, but found that he meant it.

Spock's stance became noticeably more relaxed and taking a cue from Jim, he kept his gaze forward and his voice soft. "I was operating under the assumption that this event was essential to those who wished to make a career of their talents."

Jim winced at the too true statement and kicked at the floor absentmindedly, "Ya, but I think I've already more or less ruined my chance at getting in any face time and I have business cards set up if they're interested." He sought out Spock's eyes and more or less forced eye contact, "You don't have to come with me, but I'd consider it a great kindness if you did." Jim turned his charm up as far as he could, smiling his brightest and hoping it would be enough to persuade this relative stranger into taking a night time drive with him. He wasn't sure why, but Spock's presence had already began to calm him, uncoiling the knot in his stomach,

Spock hesitated a moment, but just as Jim was beginning to doubt his approach he spoke. "I believe I shall take up your offer."

* * *

><p>Spock sat quietly in the passenger sear of Jim's car, noting its obvious age, and admiring the fact that it ran as smoothly as it did. His stomach flopped as he stole a glance at Jim's stoic face and he doubted the logic of putting himself in an enclosed space, with someone who enamored him so, at a late hour of the night. Attempting to clear his mind he stared out the window at the silhouettes that wooshed by as they drove out of the city limits. Spock wasn't sure where they were headed and he hadn't wanted to disturb Jim's concentration by asking. As he pressed his nose against the window, he noticed his breath fogging the glass and for the first time tonight noted how very cold he was, his skin noticeably more green than usual. The dampness once again seemed to sink into his bones and frustrated with his recent inability to reign in the kind of control he once exercised he fought with his body, determined at the least not to have his teeth chatter. Jim finally seemed to have found the spot he was looking for, and pulling the car off the road. driving into a small clearing in the midst of overgrown trees and moss. Spock let out a small "Oh!" at the inherent beauty of the place- so expertly hidden from the road, it gave a reassuring sense of seclusion.<p>

Jim turned to look at him for the first time since leaving and let out a quiet gasp. "Jesus Spock, you look like you're freezing to death!" he began rummaging through the small mess in the back seats as he muttered an impressive string of curse words Spock was certain that Jim thought he couldn't hear.

"Vulcan is considerably warmer than Earth, but I assure you that my inner body temperature is nowhere near a fatal level." Spock attempted to brush off the other man's concern even though he really would appreciate a warmer jacket. He had not dressed for an excursion such as this and was wishing that he had one of his mother's hand knit sweaters handy. When she had given them to him he had thought so little of the gesture, he had more than adequate clothing, why should he need more? Back then, the thought of sentimentality had been foolishly illogical, but now he just wished that he could tell her how much it really meant to him now.

Jim returned from the back seat with a rather large and fluffy blanket that he insisted on wrapping Spock up in as tight as he could manage. "I never thought I'd be using that blanket like this." he snorted with a curiously attractive waggle of his eyebrows. Quickly his expression turned serious again, "Why didn't you say anything? I would have pulled over sooner, or cranked the heat?" Spock merely offered him a shrug and Jim fell back into his seat with a sigh. "Y'know, every time I think that I have you pinned you go and surprise me." he laughed, running his hands through his hair in that familiar nervous gesture.

Spock nearly smiled at the idea of anyone being able to pin his strangely erratic actions down. Ignoring the current thread of conversation, Spock brought one of his hands out of the blanket-cocoon and gestured toward the glove compartment in front of him. "May I?"

Jim looked baffled for a moment, but then gave a shrug of his own, "Sure, knock yourself out." When Spock paused, clear confusion in his eyes, Jim just smiled widely, eyes twinkling, "It's an expression." Spock nodded minutely before continuing on, pulling at the latch and frowning when he began to dig through the old photos, crinkled paper, and assorted garbage that resided there.

"Is this not a glove compartment?" Spock asked, nearly sounding disturbed by his discovery. Jim shook his head amusedly for a few seconds before answering.

"That is one of the most notoriously inaccurate names in the history of ever." he stated simply. "No one actually keeps gloves there, mostly just the title and registration for their vehicle, and souvenirs from better times." he gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes before reclining his seat to stare at the stars through the sunroof. "Look, the whole reason I brought you out here was because I saw Nyota at the gallery." Looking through the photos he had found, Spock didn't need to ask who she was.

"Why did you wish not to see her? It seems as though at one time you made each other quite happy." Jim noticed the wistfulness in Spock's voice as he spoke, but didn't bother to address it.

"When I left Iowa, I just kind of bolted over night. I didn't tell anyone where I was going except my mother and didn't say any goodbyes." he paused for a moment, wondering why it was so easy to tell all of this to a man who was supposed to be cold and emotionless. Looking at Spock, neither of those things seemed to even vaguely describe him. "I just had to get out of there. I can't really explain why, but I felt like I was suffocating. Anyways, I'm just not ready to talk to any of them just yet."

Spock nodded slowly at these new bits of information and took a few minutes formulating his response. "I find that I don't require an explanation as to the purpose behind your actions. I too made a rather hasty decision to leave my home." he hesitated, wondering just how much he should reveal. "It was against my father's wishes and we have not spoken since. He does not understand why I am unable to make logical decisions concerning my future. He finds it frustrating when I allow my human half to overcome the Vulcan in me." Spock looked up from where he had been nervously twiddling with the frayed end of the blanket wrapped around him, only to be completely arrested when his eyes caught Jim's. Much like the first time they had met Spock found himself unable to look away, but this time the blue of Jim's irises was a more solemn color, holding understanding and companionship as opposed to the curiosity and passion from before.

* * *

><p>Jim laid back in his seat and tried his best to ignore the affection that bloomed wildly in his chest after they broke eye contact. Those deep, brown eyes were so accepting and warm he couldn't help the flutter his heart gave at the thought of them. Jim worried his bottom lip and used the comfortable silence to try and think of different reasons behind these feelings. He had only known Spock for a few weeks, and he didn't even really know anything about him. But Jim felt as though had never known anyone this well before. He hadn't planned on things happening quite like this when he asked Spock to run away with him, but out here, in this strange limbo, he felt as though they really had run; run to a place of their own creating where no one could find them and the world only functioned as they wished it to.<p>

He laughed dryly, thinking to himself that he sounded like a love sick teenager. Spock turned to him at the sound, a question in his eyes. Jim happily noted that he had returned to a much more normal shade and smiled- this one fairly small with no motive behind it- but he noted how Spock's eyes widened and his breathing hitched. They both laid on their sides just staring for minutes, maybe hours. Jim didn't think that he could admit it out loud any time soon, but in the confines of his mind he let himself think it, _I'm falling in love._ The thought was terrifying and thrilling all at once, but as with everything in his life, he decided to meet it head on. Moving forward slowly he leaned close and placed a soft kiss on the cold, green tip of Spock's nose. "Thank you for saving me tonight."


	4. Expo '86

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry I kinda fell off schedule there for a bit. ^^' I really do wanna attempt to post this at decent pace. XP Anyways, I like-a this chapter very much cuz it's the longest chapter I've ever written and it's got lots o' flirting. I REALLY want to hear all your comments/criticisms/suggestions for my story! I thrive off of reviews and find nothing too trivial, just lemme know you're there! :D**

**Miss Angela Ross! Quick shout-out to you! I usually PM all my followers, but I can't with you so, here's this instead. You are sincerely AWESOME! I can't believe that I got a follower who reviews every chapter for this story! I've always wanted one, so I just wanted to let you know that you have made me very happy. I'd love to do something for you story-wise as a thank you. If you're interested, contact me. ^^**

Jim walked idly throughout a weekend agricultural market he had stumbled upon while killing time, waiting for a bride and groom shoot that would take place in the city. They had once been extremely popular in the early 2000's, but as food replicators became the more traditional method of meal preparation, the markets quickly lost steam. Jim breathed deeply, taking in all the different herbs, spices, meats, and breads that densely populated the small park that the market occupied. He had never been a big fan of replicated food, being raised by his mother who was obsessed with old fashioned things and always had a hand made dinner on the table when he was little. That is, until that rat bastard of a step father came along…. He fumed quietly before shoving the memory out of his head, not wanting to ruin this perfectly good day. He looked down at the basket in his hand, nearly filled to overflowing with all manner of foods, both local and alien, that he was dying to try. He was just beginning to head out of the grounds, when a familiar voice rang out from behind him, "James?" he stopped in his tracks and smiled widely. There was only one person in the world that called him James, only one who's voice held a cadence like that. He didn't turn around just yet, hoping that he could hear it one more time, "James?"

He began to turn, ready to beam his most charming smile, but faltered momentarily when he caught sight of the familiar, yet not, Vulcan from his art class. Spock stood before him dressed in tightly pressed black slacks, a white button down and tie, with a warmly colored sweater on top, and sleek black glasses resting high on the bridge of his nose. "Spock?" Jim took a hesitant step towards him, but then rushed forward hurriedly to examine the surreal sight more closely. "What is…. this?" he gestured vaguely at Spock's clothes.

"Ah!" Spock looked down at himself, seemingly noticing for the first time that he was not in the more casual clothes Jim was accustomed to seeing. "I am employed at a nearby publishing firm. After a few days, this is the attire that I observed to be acceptable." Spock indicated his clothes in a nearly exact copy of Jim's gesture. "Though, these," he touched the edge of his black frames, "are merely because I did not wish to deal with the hassle of contact lenses…. and I do not agree with ocular surgery. Having lasers so close to my retina is…. discomforting." Spock looked back up, his eyes voicing the concern and confusion that his expression and speech did not, "Is this…. incorrect?"

Waving his arms frantically, Jim backpedaled quickly, "No, no, no! That's not what I- Er, I mean….." he let out a weighted huff and took a moment to calm himself. "You look fine. Great even!" He kicked at the floor in a childish manner and rubbed his free hand along the back of his neck nervously. In the silence that followed something clicked quite suddenly and Jim's head snapped back up, "It's Saturday!"

Spock stared at him questioningly, an eyebrow disappearing into his hair. "A very astute observation James."

Jim chuckled, entranced by the playfulness in the Vulcan's smooth, chocolate brown eyes. "Yes, but _why_ are you working on a Saturday?"

Spock pursed his lips with a small amount of hesitance and Jim noticed his eyes flash momentarily, "My superior is demanding and has little regard for others' schedules." he paused and seemed to carefully consider something for a moment before speaking again. "However, I cannot find myself to be too resentful as without their preference for unusual hours I would not have met you here." A small smile threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth and Jim found himself breathless in the wake of it.

Seeing an opportunity that he just couldn't let alone, Jim gathered his usually immeasurable amount of courage and plowed forward, "Hey, lemme make it up to you! I just bought enough food to feed an army and I'd love to share it with someone." At this Spock looked away for a moment, having a sudden fascination with the crowd behind him, coming as close to fidgeting as a Vulcan could, repeatedly pressing his pointer finger and thumb together "I'm actually a pretty fair cook, my mom taught me everything she knew."

"I-I suppose it couldn't hurt." Spock said, bringing his attention back to the man in front of him, "I would have to stop by my apartment, though it isn't too close by." For the first time, Jim noticed that Spock too had purchases from the market. Though, the only thing that occupied the space of his basket was a boquet of pink-white flowers that he didn't recognize.

"Oh, that's fine. If you have a stove, your place might actually be closer than mine; can't afford anything within the city limits." Jim shrugged the statement off, finding that the flowers intrigued him far more than the location of their lunch. "What exactly are those?" he tried his best not to sound prying, though it was difficult as his curiosity often got the better of his manners.

"Flowers…. more specifically _Clematis Montana_. They are quite similar to ones that used to grow near my childhood house. The aroma specifically has a remarkable resemblance." Jim bent and pressed his nose into the bundle of blooms, closing his eyes as the spicy, heady aroma began to engulf his senses. Somehow he could feel the pressing heat, the grit of the ever present sand. The air tasted dry and he could hear the piercing cry of unfamiliar birds off in the distance. Vaguely, he recalled scent being the strongest factor involved in the creation and recall of memories.

* * *

><p>Jim wasn't sure why, but as he crossed the threshold into Spock's apartment he felt a great sense of calm come over him- the buzzing, insatiable curiosity along with his inherent need for attention melting away. Offhandedly he attributed it to the neutral grey of the walls and the unusually warm temperature that would make even the most rowdy of children lethargic. Spock toed off his shoes and walked briskly to the thermostat on the small kitchenette pass through that separated it from the living space; making the wall a window into the kitchen, shutters present that could close the space off if need be. "I am not accustomed to visitors." Spock said as if in apology, setting his basket down on the bar and disappearing into the cabinet underneath the sink. Jim took his lead and removed his shoes before following him inside and placing his goods near the sink. Spock's head popped back above the counter, reappearing with a small, stone vase in his hands and set about filling it and arranging the flowers.<p>

"I didn't think Vulcans would be affected by nostalgia." Jim voiced, unable to contain the thought that he had been trying to keep welled up inside since discovering the reasoning behind their purchase. "Do you often feel homesick?" Jim avoided eye contact by busying himself with the preparations for their meal, knowing that it sometimes made Spock uncomfortable; most likely because that was the single feature where he could not mask his emotions as he was taught.

"It is illogical to feel nostalgic or homesick for Vulcans. What has passed, has passed and there is no reason behind dwelling on it…. However, I do feel both of these things. Something that I can no doubt attribute to my mixed heritage." Spock paused, quietly watching Jim's back as he stood at the stove, throwing all manner of vegetables, seasonings, and liquids in a pan with his usual flair for the dramatic- making varied sound effects and keeping the atmosphere light. "I should elaborate by informing you that my mother was human." Spock found that he had been content with the flowers placement quite some time ago, but still found himself occupied with moving them about in favor of staying still. Jim threw a warm smile and a 'No kidding?' over his shoulder, his wording nonchalant, though the curiosity was clear in his tone. "I have begun to come to terms with that recently, but I still find the, 'homesickness' as you call it, to be quite vexing."

At this, Jim turned and pulled his pan off the heat, giving his full attention. "I find myself missing a place that no longer exists. I miss the roughness of the stone that my first room was composed of. I miss the stray sehlat my mother brought home when I was lonely, a companion that has long since passed. I miss the absurd holiday traditions she insist that I participate in, as she gave me many undeserved gifts and cooked unusual foods which she can no longer. The home that I am sick for is no longer a part of this reality." Jim shifted his feet nervously, knowing how he would comfort any other friend, but unsure as to how Spock might react to his customary ministrations. So, instead he did what he did best, and pulled Spock over to the stove, inviting him into the eternal sunshine of his character.

"Taste this." he lifted a spoon to Spock's lips and smiled brightly when he was humored, the familiar brown of Spock's eyes grateful for the distraction. Even though it made him nervous, Jim was excited to once again be a part of this never-ending cycle of friendship, flirting, courting, and possibly love. He thought back to his last romance, which ended nearly a year ago. He still had the book of photographs on a shelf in his apartment, mapping the supernova relationship he had with Nyota. It had begun with only the best of intentions, but it was fast, fleeting, and burned everything in its wake. The thought of it is nearly enough to make him back away, take this at a slower pace, when he's more prepared. But the risk of losing Spock to someone in line behind him was too big to take. The anticipation of what could be pressed him forward, resolved to see things through.

* * *

><p>Jim sat quietly in Spock's kitchen, watching idly as Spock made his latest attempt at fixing lunch. He had insisted that he should repay Jim after the encounter at the local market, but so far had only produced a small kitchen fire and a now growing obsession to master the skill set required for cooking. Jim inhaled deeply, intrigued by aroma that the alien spices created as a curious mixture bubbled perkily on the stove. Watching Spock cook was entertaining to say the least, and had him wondering whether or not he should have a fire extinguisher handy. He absentmindedly played with a piece of string he had plucked from the hem of his shirt, recalling that soup hadn't seemed like that dangerous of a meal to make. If he remembered correctly, Spock was supposed to be making something called Plomeek soup, a dish that Spock had been fond of in his childhood when his mother made it for him. When his friend had been telling him this Jim could detect what he thought was nostalgia tinged with regret. He had thought of asking about it, but given Vulcan culture, decided that it would be overstepping his boundaries.<p>

After a few more minutes, and what he assumed were some choice Vulcan curses mumbled under Spock's breath, he was presented a bowl of what looked curiously like tomato soup. He looked up to see Spock with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, brows furrowed and the corners of his mouthed pulled into an almost-frown. The front of his apron was covered in small splotches of the red-orange liquid and a few stray hairs managed to poke out of his usually immaculate cut. Unable to resist the temptation, Jim pressed his camera to his eye and caught the moment before it could pass. Afterwards he was met with an inquisitive, albeit frustrated, look from Spock, "I do not understand your apparent fascination with capturing the most mundane of my activities on film." his ears had tinged green, but Jim attributed it to the fact that he always had to turn down the thermostat whenever he had human visitors. Jim only offered a shrug in return and turned his attention to the meal in front of him. He was genuinely surprised to find the flavor quite pleasant, though this bowl in particular was a little over spiced and the slightest bit scorched. He beamed a reassuring smile at the chef, who was noticeably trying _not_ to look noticeably nervous. This made him smirk as he moved to consume the meal with the appropriate gusto, even wiping the bowl clean with a piece of bread as he finished.

He waited patiently as Spock ate in a more 'polite' manner, not making any of the wet slurping noises that had accompanied Jim's consumption. Jim shamelessly rubbed his stomach in small circles, trying to think of an appropriately engaging topic, but not feeling up to their usually deep or complicated topics, said the first thing that came to mind. "I think I'd like to get a tattoo." Both of Spock's eyebrows flew into his hairline and his hand froze- spoon halfway to his lips. "Nothing garish, maybe just something on my arm that could be covered with short sleeves, or maybe a back piece."

Spock sat his spoon down carefully and angled himself so that they were facing each other directly. "Correct me if I misunderstand, but tattoos are meant to be extensions of one's self in addition to being a decorative attempt at enhancing one's appearance, yes?" Jim nodded slowly, trying to imagine just where Spock was going with this. "Well then, I do not see a reason as to why you should get one. Your effervescent personality speaks to people more so than any ink could and your attractiveness is already beyond adequate. If anything, a tattoo may detract from your already quite desirable qualities. It is both illogical and unnecessary." Cheeks and neck greener than usual, Spock calmly turned back to his soup and eyes cast downward, set about finishing it quietly. Jim couldn't hide the blush that heated his ears as he suddenly felt very lightheaded. He twiddled his thumbs nervously as the quiet began to draw out uncomfortably, and just as he was about to dismiss himself for some imaginary appointment Spock rose swiftly from his seat and disappeared into his room.

He came back shortly, gesturing for Jim to sit on the armless chair in the living area. Slightly puzzled, but more than willing to spend more time with the Vulcan he sat obediently and looked at Spock expectantly. With a nervous twitch of his lips, Spock brandished the thin black marker that he must have gone to his room for. "May I?" he murmured softly. Hesitantly Jim nodded and stood to turn the chair so that he could straddle it. He carefully set his camera on the coffee table and with a shuddering breath he pulled his shirt over his head and sat with his back facing Spock.

* * *

><p>Spock breathed deeply and focused on his control as he took in the smooth, tanned contours of Jim's back, freckles dusting his shoulders and a thin scar running across his side. He knelt behind Jim and slowly began to trace across his back, taking his time to make the smooth lines follow the muscles underneath. He swallowed thickly, thinking of just how disappointed his father would be if he could see Spock now, hands roving the naked back of a terran boy that made every one of his emotions flow beyond his control. Yet, somehow, he hadn't been so at peace since his mother's death and he felt as though she might be proud of him for finally just letting himself be.<p>

* * *

><p>Jim clenched desperately to the firm leather of the chair as he tried not to let contented sighs fall past his lips. Spock's long hands were gentle and fleeting as they roamed across his back- the cool tip of the marker strangely soothing as it mapped his back and shoulders. He let his eyes close and head fall forward to rest against the back of the chair- unable to keep himself from imagining the same drifting touch in a more romantically inclined situation. He hummed quietly as he felt the marker follow Spock's fingers closely as they traced his spine. Amusedly he thought that he must look very much akin to a cat, his back beginning to arch as he practically purred under Spock's ministrations. Then, the cool pressure left his back and he couldn't help with the small whimper that escaped his lips. Spock spoke quietly behind him, "I believe that I have finished…. There is a full length mirror in my room if you wish."<p>

Jim swallowed thickly as he stood and nodded, trying to ignore the warm tingling sensation that erupted across his skin wherever Spock's eyes happened to alight. He walked slowly to the room in the back that, as far as he knew, no one besides Spock himself had entered. As he crossed under the doorframe, his fingers lightly grasped the edge and his head bowed as if in reverence. The first thing he saw when he stepped inside was the large, plush bed that took up most of the floor space. It was swathed in heavy blankets and comforters- it reminded him of the long ago sultans from the east, though the colors in Spock's bedding was far more neutral than the vibrant reds and oranges that they would have favored. As his eyes moved on, he caught the small bi-level desk against the wall with a few PADDs and a smattering of papers so large that they couldn't have possibly all been work related. He recognized the stone vase that sat on the higher portion, filled with the bright blooms that he had seen Spock buy days before, and subsequently noticed the warm perfume they had suffused throughout the room. There was a growing pile of leather bound books at the foot of the bed on a variety of topics, both fiction and non-fiction. Jim couldn't keep from smirking at this, knowing that Spock must have spent the majority of his income on acquiring the tomes. He saw the mirror that Spock had mentioned in the corner of the room and made to stand in front of it, but the nightstand beside the bed caught his eye first. Jim blushed at the overwhelming curiosity that quickly wore at his will and he took the few steps across the room to stop just before it. There was the standard lamp and alarm clock along with a copy of a book entitled _Never Let Me Go_. But the thing that caught his eye was the lone photograph that rested in an ornate sliver frame. The Polaroid was faded and worn and it took him a moment to make out the image, but he was instantly drawn in, this being the only photograph in the apartment. He picked it up gently, having only the utmost respect for something Spock so obviously treasured. The picture depicted a human woman swathed in ornate fabrics, a desert behind her and a contrite smile barely visible through it all. She looked kind and gentle, and he attributed that to the fact that she clearly had Spock's eyes. Then, with a kind of clarity he had not experienced since New Year's, he knew that this was Spock's mother.

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a soft rap just inside the room and looking over, saw Spock standing just outside. "I believe that the mirror is located on the opposite side of the room." Jim could see that he wasn't mad, but that this also wasn't the time to discuss the picture. He set the frame down gently and with a sheepish smile he went to stand with his back facing the mirror. Inhaling deeply, he turned to look over his shoulder and catching the design inked on his back, let it out painfully fast. In Spock's customary style he had taken an ordinary reality and fused it with his own perceptions to form one that most were too afraid to see. Between his shoulders a sunburst seemed to move and flow along with his muscles as they shifted. Starting just above his waist were climbing blooms that were beautifully heartbreaking as they stretched towards the sun, mimicking, with surprising accuracy, outstretched hands. The center flower that was closer than any, but wilting because of the proximity, was the same flower that grew just ten feet away.

"Spock…." his voice came out breathy and his chest felt tight. Spock still stood just outside and no matter how hard he tried, Jim could not get him to meet his gaze. Jim came to stand in front of him and carefully placed his hands in the center of Spock's chest. With a gentleness that surprised even himself, Jim placed a light, lingering kiss right between Spock's brows. Not wishing to push too hard too fast, he stepped back a few inches, and caught sight of the clock. "Shit!….." Spock looked at him with wide eyes and Jim gestured to the nightstand loosely. "I have a corporate party I have to shoot." He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing that he didn't have to leave now. But Spock merely offered a curt nod and led him back to the living room. Jim pulled his shirt back on and gathered his things while pulling his shoes on. "Hey," he grabbed the crook of Spock's arm as he reached the door and forced eye contact, "I had a great time today," he gave a light squeeze and a small smile, " and I love my tattoo." Spock flushed green and managed a quiet, "Indeed?" Jim nodded and quickly left before he decided to tell the CEO's and businessmen to go to hell so that he could stay here. As he dashed down he hall, casting several glances back, he could still feel the cool tingle on his back.


	5. Sound of Settling

**A/N: Hey peoples! Lookit! I posted within a week. ^^ Hooray for getting back on track. Oh, and guess what? This story now has an official beta! Please say thanks to Ross1991! This is the shortest chapter besides the New Year and I am totally blaming the length on the fact that the song that accompanies this chapter is the shortest on the album. Are you guys listening to the songs? You really should, cuz they are awesome and it puts some awesome perspective on how the story goes. Listen to them? Pretty please? For me? Anyways, as always, I would LOVE to hear from all of you. All comments/criticisms/suggestions are most certainly welcome. **

Spock sat on the edge of his bed, the picture of his mother held firmly in his hands. His fingers stroked the glass just above her face and for the seventh time today, he wondered what she would say if she were here now. Spock knew that this kind of thinking was not only illogical, but highly impractical, though that did not help to diminish the spectral hole in his heart where her presence had once been. He pressed a hand tenderly to his side, knowing it would not ease the pain, but taking comfort in the gesture despite it. Absentmindedly he thought of how it would feel to have Jim rest his hand there, to have Jim try and fix the void that had been left within him. Spock quite nearly smiled then, knowing that his mother would have incessantly hassled him to 'get with the kissing already.' She had always wished to see him in a loving relationship which, up until a month or two ago, he was certain he'd never have.

Spock's stomach twisted into knots, the mere thought of vocalizing his feelings to Jim Kirk making his anxiety spike. He had always found himself to be confident and capable in nearly all aspects in his life, but in regard to relationships, his warring halves had never been able to align. Part of his brain was always shouting at him, '_If you have an impulse, let it out_', but his Vulcan upbringing distinctly disagreed, leaving his tongue tied in knots, the words never leaving his mouth. Spock clenched his jaw, the conflicting feelings so often being at the forefront of his mind these days had him on edge. Right now, he was supposed to be getting ready to meet Jim for an early dinner (at Jim's insistence), but he found himself wondering if he should just cancel.

Spock's mother has always been the closest person to him, and subsequently had shaped the majority of his being. Before she died, that had been enough for Spock, he had no unmet social needs and was able to carry on a very fulfilling life. He wanted nothing more than to have that life back, and perhaps this was a step in the wrong direction. Things had seemed so much easier when he kept his human side in check- none of these disastrous feelings taking such control of him. He could do it, live on Vulcan, waiting eagerly for the days when he would turn grey and these thoughts of love were merely things that could have been, if he'd only thought of something charming to say. He let out an uncharacteristic sigh as he fell back on his bed, and then as an afterthought, nearly began to laugh. If there was one thing that his mother had strived to teach him, it was that sighing was the sound of settling and Amanda told him that he should never settle for anything less than what he desired. For the first time in years he found himself lonely and wanting more- and perhaps Jim was the perfect remedy for his solitude.

Experiencing a sudden rush of courage, he surged over to his dresser and began rifling through the drawers. With a decisiveness that he hadn't felt in too long he changed out of his work clothes and into an outfit that he had only worn once- due to its innate ability to draw, and keep, peoples' attention. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans that hugged his narrow hips a bit more than he liked, no longer needing a belt. Next, a thin black shirt slid over his shoulders and came to a stop just over the button of his jeans. Lastly he pulled a navy sweater over the top- it's wide neck clinging to ends of his shoulders. Spock found that they were his favorite piece of terran clothing- easily adapting to formal or casual instances, soft and comfortable, and keeping him safe from the prying cold that always stung at his ears. Allowing himself another hasty decision, he switched out his contacts for his glasses- Jim was rather fond of his spectacles and that could only increase his chance at a positive outcome to this strangely clandestine of meetings. They both knew that the other had a past their were unwilling to share just yet, and their encounters always had a secretive feeling to them. Spock often felt as though he had stumbled across a world unbeknownst to all but those who needed it. He knew that Jim felt this way too, and though the idea was nothing but pure folly, he couldn't help but want to keep this place that housed so many lost souls, their 'island of misfit toys' as Jim called it.

* * *

><p>Jim sat at a small, square table near the wall of windows in one of the few restaurants in town that served both vegetarian and meat dishes. He looked out at the city as the sun began its journey, descending from the sky. His foot bounced uncontrollably against the hardwood floor and he gripped the white box in his hands as though it were something of the utmost importance. He sipped at his water with vague irritation, wondering just why he hadn't allowed himself a drop of alcohol since his New Year's epiphany. He had decided to leave his old life behind, and apparently, to his mind, that meant his drinking habits too. He threw another glance at the clock over the bar, chewing his lip and determinedly throwing his gaze back out the windows. Spock was only five minutes late, which shouldn't have bothered him, but he knew that being late was one of Spock's biggest peeves.<p>

His heart jumped when he heard the light tinkle of the bell that hung above the door and he turned to catch Spock, as Jim had never seen him, saunter to their table. A hunger, the likes of which Jim had never felt before, tugged at his stomach as he took in the sight. He stood hastily as Spock approached and couldn't help the crazy grin that pulled at his lips. As Spock sat, he looked vaguely pleased at Jim's reaction, "I apologize for my tardiness, as you know it is not customary for me."

Jim shrugged as he too sat, pulling his chair closer, "It's no problem." He licked his lips nervously as Spock looked over the menu, and unashamedly let his gaze wander over the uncustomary sensuality that infused his friend tonight. Another smile broke its way across his face, this more muted than the last, as he noticed the glasses gracing Spock's elegant face. Ever since Jim had voiced his preference in Spock's bespectacled appearance, the Vulcan had taken to wearing them more often, though Jim was certain that Spock didn't believe he'd notice. Looking up from his menu, Spock caught Jim's lingering stare and a sage blush began to creep over his cheeks, only making Jim's gaze more intent.

Deciding to turn attention away from himself, Spock gestured at Jim's lap with a nod, "If I may inquire as to the contents of that box you are carrying, I confess to finding myself quite curious."

"Oh!" Jim grinned sheepishly as he placed the box on their table and hesitated momentarily before he began to remove the lid. He folded aside the tissue paper still concealing the mystery inside…. and lifted a scarf, the chocolate brown and sky blue stripes unfolding as he stood. A blush of his own began to color Jim's face as he wrapped it carefully around Spock's neck, but instead of backing away, he kept the ends between his fingers as he used his leg to bring his chair around the table. Sitting next to Spock instead of across from him let Jim keep the dinner decidedly more intimate than before, "I saw this while window shopping- guys _can _do that- and it just kinda reminded me of you." Spock looked at him questioningly as his fingers traveled the remarkable soft material around his neck, "I mean, you wear blue a lot. A-and your eyes are such a deep brown." Jim felt his ears begin to heat considerably as he continued to plow through, determined to give a reason for this purchase, "Plus, you're always so cold, even though you pretend you're not," he added at Spock's indignant look.

Spock took a deep breath, and Jim watched as the fight bled out of him. Satisfied that Spock wouldn't try to give it back due to the lack of occasion, Jim let the ends slip from his fingers and ushered over a waitress. The both of them gave their orders and Jim absentmindedly wondered if Spock would find playing footsie underneath the table 'inappropriate'. He was pulled out of his musings when he felt a slender hand grasp his clothed wrist lightly. He looked up slowly, finding a pair of intense eyes boring into him, the barest of smiles on Spock's face. "Thank you," Spock's voice was soft, but full of intent, "but I am afraid that I have nothing to give you in return."

Jim pursed his lips, wanting nothing more than to hold Spock's hand in his own, and places kisses on each finger. "I think I know of a way you can make it up to me." Spock raised an eyebrow high into his hairline, always amused by Jim's spontaneity. "Tomorrow, a storm is coming in and the sunrise is supposed to be amazing." Jim's foot began to bounce against the floor again as his anticipation for adding such attractive photos to his portfolio (everybody loves sunrises and sunsets) mixed with the eagerness of seeing Spock with such a spectacular backdrop. "Meet me at lighthouse around six?" Spock hesitated momentarily before nodding.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both decided to divulge their feelings at forthcoming the meeting once and for all.


	6. Author's Note

Hey guys, I just wanted to drop by and say: Yes I am still alive, no I have not given up on this story, and yes I am working towards my hopefully triumphant return. :P I've just hit a bit of an inspirational block on this and my other WIP, Shelter, and I don't want to continue on unless I'm 100% confident in my writing. I really wanna give this story my all so I hope you all understand why I've put it on hold.

I sincerely hope you guys will stick with me and I am gonna try my best to be a semi-respectable author.

Thanks for just being awesome and keep on keepin' on,

Anti-canon


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